A Robot and His Dog
by RenaRoo
Summary: Marissa's roommates could learn a bit more about genre writing.


I've been meaning to write something with Thundercracker and Marissa for ages when this silly little idea came to me, and I just couldn't resist.

Transformers and related properties © Hasbro  
story, Amalgamation AU © RenaRoo

 **A Robot and His Dog**

It was another script entirely by the time Marissa made it to their makeshift home. She wasn't sure _why_ she had thought that Thundercracker would stick with the last one any longer than he usually did, but it somehow still managed to surprise her.

"How fast can you read it?" Thundercracker asked her in earnest.

"How fast can I read a two-hundred page script written at a fourth grade level?" Marissa asked, testing the weight of the stack of papers he had handed to her. "If you stapled them all in order this time, about the same amount of time as _any_ of the scripts you've handed me to read."

"Your reading ability is a service to your species," Thundercracker said, though Marissa at least _suspected_ that by that time he meant it at least partially in jest.

Marissa flipped through a few pages, inherently raising a brow at the material because she still couldn't help herself. "Thundercracker, why are you writing a war movie? I thought you said that was one genre you would never touch. Said, and I _quote, 'My species was at war for four million years, there aren't good stories to tell about it.'"_

Thundercracker slid down the wall, making it creak in response, and there was an expected _THOOM_ as he reached a sitting position.

The noise was enough to bring Buster out, yipping and barking as she ran in from the kitchen and immediately began climbing her way up Thundercracker's monstrous legs.

"I know, but I was speaking to the _other_ Faireborn," Thundercracker began to explain. Buster was still climbing all over his lap and taking most of his attention by that point as he fondly petted the dog.

Almost immediately, Marissa dropped the script.

"Careful!" Thundercracker warned her.

"Why were you talking to my father?" she demanded. "Is he still trying to get me to take that position you had him offer me!?"

Thundercracker looked almost surprised by the reaction. "I thought he said it was a _curtesy call._ I believe those are relatively benign, at least they were on Cybertron–"

"He's keeping an eye on me," Marissa surmised. "Fan _tastic."_

Oblivious to the implications, Thundercracker shrugged in that way that was entirely irritating and entirely only capable by him, before continuing on with his story. Like _always._ "In any case, he asked me about how my scripts were coming along and when I mentioned my new interest in the straight-to-streaming type of films, he informed me that _some_ scripts could be sent to the military offices and perhaps be approved by them to be given some budget! And you were _just_ telling me how money was a big reason why I needed to be sending scripts out to multiple agencies – since humans apparently want _money_ for creating movies."

"Thundercracker, he was telling you to write _military propaganda,"_ Marissa clarified. "Surely you're familiar with the concept."

"Of course I am," Thundercracker answered, tilting his large head. "But what would that have to do with a _movie script_ where things are made up and the characters are not real? Propaganda for Cybertron has always been documentary."

Marissa sighed and hunched down, picking the papers of Thundercracker's script up. "We have those, too, but _anything_ written with a purpose beyond just its story can be propaganda of some sort or another. It could be propaganda for a story to just send a message about non-military things."

"Hm," Thundercracker hummed, putting a hand to his chin. "And do groups other than the military give money toward scripts that are propaganda for them?"

"I guess it's possible," Marissa shrugged. "It's going to depend on the group and what they want to get across–"

Before the words had even left her mouth, Thundercracker was on his feet and racing toward the other side of the base where Marissa had helped him set up his writing studio. Buster was happily yipping from his hands.

Surprised, and more than a little shook up by the thunderous booms of the Cybertronian's running, Marissa got to her feet and followed after him. "Thundercracker!" she cried out. "What are you doing now!?"

"There have to be support groups for animals, right!?" Thundercracker asked excitedly.

"You mean animal rights groups?" she asked curiously.

"Even better!" Thundercracker said, sitting at his desk. "My newest script will be about a dog, a _war dog,_ dealing with the aftermath of peace when he loses his favorite fighter pilot!"

More than a little apprehensive at the idea, Marissa turned and looked intently at Thundercracker. "That sounds… _devastating_ honestly," she informed him.

"Which is why it'll be a romantic comedy," Thundercracker announced.

"What? _How?"_ she couldn't help but laugh.

"Because there's a thin line between tears and laughter!" he explained.

Lifting up the thick script in her hands, Marissa looked to her roommate hopefully. "So I'm taking that as I _don't_ have to read _this_ script then."

"No, we're still sending that one to your father," Thundercracker decided. "I'll need money for Buster's breakthrough performance."

"That's not how grants work–" Marissa stopped herself and sighed, dropping into her own seat with the script. "Nevermind. Wasn't like I had plans for the evening anyway."


End file.
